"Frakking hell, Rhodri, warn me next time!" Donaghue shouted down from the turret as he stamped his boot down to steady himself.
"Sarge's orders," Fallon replied.
"We're not running over non-combatants, Emrys," Madigan added. She was mindful of the uncomfortable tightness in her abdomen, and to her displeasure, had to half-grunt the words into the internal vox. "You got a target?"
"Yeah. Enemy Chimera's a sitting--"
The secessionist vehicle suddenly burst into flames, a lascannon beam punching straight into it from the other side and searing a small burn scar into the road next to the Devil Dog. A small gaggle of traitors fell out of the back door, directly into the tank's path. Madigan saw pilot lights being lit and giant fuel tanks swaying on the traitors' backs as they readied their flamers.
"I was aiming at that!" Donaghue protested. Madigan didn't bother replying. At least the Colonel's lascannon team had hit the right target this time.
"Make do with those flamers, Emrys," Madigan offered. "Looks like there's an officer with them. Take 'em out."
"Firing," Donaghue reported milliseconds before the melta cannon roared into life. "amphetamine parrot."
"What is it?"
"Overshot. Got someone in the next section along, but that doesn't help us with those flamers."
Madigan watched Fallon open fire in an attempt to make up for Donaghue's miss. To the driver's credit, his shot at least managed to hit -- and, predictably, char-grill -- someone in the right unit, but that was precious little consolation given Donaghue's poor showing. Distressingly, the enemy didn't seem in the least bit worried by their compatriot's demise.
In the distance, the enemy Basilisk thundered again. Madigan wasn't paying attention to where the shell landed; the fact that it was still firing, and blowing things up, was enough to give her cause for concern.
"Think we can shut that Earthshaker up?" Fallon suggested.
Shots from lasguns dinged off the Devil Dog's flank, followed by a single missile impact that bounced off the tank's armour. Madigan looked down at the auspex in alarm.
"We've got bigger problems than the artillery," she told the driver. "They've got a beslubbering pipe in that bunker next to us. If we go past them they'll put a krak missile up our exhaust and it'll be Megray Pass all over again. Let someone else handle the Earthshaker."
She reached for the vox, fiddling with the dials and buttons as she leaned over painfully. "Firebug to Lump -- you hangin' in there, Oxnard?"
The vox crackled and a surprised grunt met Madigan's ears. "Uh, yes, sah, Sargent 'Gan, ma'am. Sah."
"You see that big gun over there? The one making all the noise."
"Yeah."
"Can you get Lee-Roy and Mundt to shoot it?"
"Wha'? You're all crackley."
Madigan held back a frustrated sigh, reminding herself that she was talking to an Ogryn. A BONEhead, so intelligent as Ogryns went, but still an Ogryn. "The people firing that gun are enemies of the Emperor. He wants you to get rid of them. Do you hear me, Oxnard? The Emperor wants that gun taken out."
"Sargent 'Gan? You there?" Oxnard rumbled. Madigan opened her mouth to repeat her order, but the vox went dead of its own accord.
"Are they jamming us?" Fallon suggested.
"amphetamine parrot, I hope not," Madigan scowled. "Can't ignore them, though."
"They've got snipers on the roof," Donaghue reported.
"Alright, Rhodri, go north and round the bunker, and give them our front armour if you can," Madigan instructed. "Emrys, clean those snipers out."
"We'll hit the bunker itself for sure," Donaghue remarked cautiously.
"Then beslubbering aim first," Madigan snapped back.
[OOC]
Thankfully, Haltius' order to fire on the non-combatants wasn't on an open vox channel, otherwise Madigan might've had a few things to say in reply
Firebug is going to head north round the bunker, pivoting to face it directly, and will fire at Unit F. I'm not entirely au fait with the Building Damage rules so the melta cannon might also hit the bunker itself (there's a jet of superheated plasma, radiation et cetera being directed at the snipers, after all), but that's an acceptable risk if so.
[/OOC]
"You are unlike the Sergeant in the Devil Dog," the unsolicited interrupter carried on.
"Pathetic! Altering course to “save” the Sheep in her way. A will so weak, she lost her chance to enact her will, while another does so from across the battlefield.""Where the hell is that rather unsavoury chap, what-ho old bean??" Donaghue shouted.
"She and her crew will be chained behind the walls by sundown, and left to rot! The Sheep that aren't killed in battle will be made to watch their torment!""Short band transmission. He can't be far," noted Madigan. Her blood pressure was rising rapidly and she was aware that her fists were shaking.
If this heretic were chained to a table in front of her, or a wall or hanging in a gibbet, even lying on the floor at her feet, Madigan wouldn't know where to start, but she knew there'd be enough beating, gouging, tearing and furious swearing to make even a Space Marine wince.
"Trust in the Will, and your life shall be blissful ignorance! So what say you, Ambrasians? Shall you join us? Or shall you be trampled, and beaten into the dust? Will you just turn your backs and flee? Speak, if you have the will to do so."Madigan reached over and activated outbound comms without so much as a second thought. Her blood was boiling and she was going to make damn sure the enemy knew it.
[CAUTION, weapons grade profanity follows]
[spoiler]"I've had just about enough of listening to you, you
beslubbering pathetic piece of heretic amphetamine parrot," Madigan scowled into the vox. "Think you're so beslubbering high and mighty, do you? For beslubber's sake, you're a traitor to the Throne!"
Fallon didn't take his eyes off the battlefield, but a quick glance at him told Madigan that his eyes and mouth were wide open like a stunned fish. She wasn't surprised.
"Oh, you can say you're liberating humanity all you beslubbering well like," Madigan went on, "but you're amphetamine parrotting all over your loyalty and willingly making a beslubbering slave out of yourself, on your beslubbering hands and knees before this Will of yours while he spreads your cheeks and rams whatever passes for his
shrivelled heretical cock up your
arse! Do you beslubbering think Mankind are beslubbering
sheep? Less than beslubbering human for staying loyal to the Throne? Devoid of the beslubbering free will and volition to make their own beslubbering decisions? What the beslubber does that make you, then?"
"You cannot comprehend--""No. You've had your turn. You listen to me. You
beslubbering listen to me now," Madigan seethed, only too eager to punch the traitor's face in now that her blood was up. "You're a beslubbering worm. A traitorous worm crawling on your beslubbering belly in the wake of this tupenny shufflebag you and your little heretical congregation idolise, lapping up the beslubbering verbal diarrhoea he showers you with! How the beslubber,
how the beslubber can you tell the difference between this blasphemy and a violent bout of arse-spraying heretical mayhem? Eh? You try and win any of us over to your cause again, you little traitorous amphetamine parrot, and I'll lock you in a beslubbering septic tank and fill it with sewage so you beslubbering drown. And then I'll move on to the rest of your cult -- and don't you beslubbering think I won't."[/spoiler]
To Madigan's complete lack of surprise, the heretic didn't even attempt to rebuke her, never mind deliver a coherent response. She reached over to the vox again, scowling.
"beslubberity-bye."
She closed the outbound line.